


Cordially Invited

by DormantAllure



Series: Sisterverse [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bisexual John, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, John visits a bridal salon, Johnlock Fluff, Lovers' Quarrel, M/M, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft's Meddling, Romance, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sherlock in Love, Sherlock might be getting a suntan, fluff without much of a plot, if you can't take the heat stay out of the Arabian desert, something fun in between writing all that angst, weddings and proposals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DormantAllure/pseuds/DormantAllure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, John and Mycroft fly to Jeddah in Saudi-Arabia for the wedding of the mildly estranged third Holmes sibling. Will Mycroft take over the country? Is Sherlock capable of actually enjoying a holiday? Will Alice forgive Mycroft? Does John actually like the desert?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is a slight canon distortion used here: for the purposes of this storyline, the Holmes parents aren't around, they're deceased.
> 
> \--------------------------
> 
> The previous parts of the Sisterverse series can be read here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/series/157763
> 
> The series consist of:
> 
> 1\. Intransigent  
> Summary: When the third Holmes sibling turns out to be female, John is in for more than a few revelations concerning Sherlock’s past, present and perhaps even future. Unlike Mycroft, Octavia Alice Sherrinford Holmes is convinced that her youngest brother is both capable and deserving of love. 
> 
> 2\. In My Place  
> Summary: John and Sherlock are having their first proper lovers’ quarrel. Luckily John has the world’s foremost Sherlock interpreter at his disposal.
> 
> 3\. Anything  
> News of the Watson-Holmes liaison has hit the morning papers. It’s now up to Harry Watson to help John adjust to his new life.
> 
> Aaaaaand 4. This thing.

"Of course we're going to go," John says, "She's sort of the reason we got together."

Sherlock does not move his gaze from the newspaper he's reading. "And here I was operating on the assumption that _we_ were the reason we got together."

John harrumphs. "If it were up to you we never would have."

Sherlock straightens the page he's reading. "Oh spare me. As though you could have resisted my considerable charms for much longer."

John throws up his arms, smiling. "Berk." He goes to ruffle Sherlock's hair. 

Sherlock makes an annoyed grunt and tries to pat his curls back into submission. Then he picks up the invitation John has placed on the coffee table. 

Printed on thick, creamy paper, it states the details for the wedding of one Octavia Alice Sherrinford Holmes to a Joos Henneman. Location: The United States Embassy Banquet Hall, Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. Sherlock's sister had been working for the embassy as a financial advisor for several years and had seemed to settl down long-term in the country. John had kept in touch via occasional emails and had learned a year prior that she'd met a well-known Dutch violinist at an embassy function and they'd hit it off.

"Anyway, that's a yes then? To going?"

"She is my sibling. And much less irritating than Mycroft so yes, I will concede even though the Bezold-Jarisch Emerald case is still a mess."

"It's an emerald. It's not like it's going to spoil or evaporate or anything."

"The emerald is missing, John. And as it is with kidnapped children, the longer they have been gone, the less likely they are to be found."

"Speaking of Mycroft, you don't suppose he's been invited?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Not my decision. I really couldn't say."

John leans his palms on his knees. "I've never been to Saudi-Arabia. Have you?"

"I hate to lessen your enthusiasm, but you _are_ aware that male-male relationships carry the punishment of stoning to death in the country?"

John doesn't really have a reply to that.

 

 

Two days later, the view on John's laptop catches Sherlock's attention. "John dearest, what on earth are you doing?" he asks and leans over his lover's shoulder.

John offers him half of his Mars bar. Sherlock waves his hand in decline.

"Booking plane tickets. Not sure if I've got enough space on my Mastercard, though."

"'SuperSaver'? What is this nonsense?" Sherlock peers towards the screen. "Travel arrangements have already been made for all of us."

John closes the browser tab, irritated. "And you were going to tell me this when exactly? After I'd whittled away the last of my credit line on non-refundable tickets?"

"You always worry about such trivial things."

"Arrangements have been made my who?" John asks, still annoyed. Sometimes Sherlock could be so, so unconsiderate. John had somehow naively thought that now that they were together they would communicate better about their finances and other practicalities, but that nothing had actually changed that much apart from, well, all the sex. Sherlock's approach to most household-related things was still 'ignore until it goes away or John finds out and yells'.

"Mycroft has sorted everything out."

John raises his brows. "So he's going then? I have to admit I'm a bit surprised."

"He called me yesterday to tell me he'd received an invitation, including the part about all of us potentially staying with Alice and the fiancee at their apartment. I have to say I was surprised as well. Alice has fought to keep Mycroft out of her life. Maybe this is an attempt at some sort of closure. Or maybe she hopes that if Mycroft gets a proper chance to snoop around their life to all his heart's desire he'll let her be then. Had it been up to me, I'd have stuck him in some as-crap-as-possible motel instead of inviting him to stay at their home."

"Has he done that? Spy on her, I mean?"

"Not even close to the extent he has attempted to meddle in my life. I am under the expression that he's left her largely unattended."

John suddenly flashes a smile to Sherlock as though something delightful has occurred to him. "It's going to be our first proper holiday together. Sunbathing, drinks with tiny umbrellas, sightseeing and all --" he gives Sherlock a suggestive nudge and wink.

Sherlock stretches his arms nonchalantly. "May I remind you that since we'll be staying at Alice's place you can forget about any sex holiday plans."

"I doubt they'll have time to play host. I sort of assumed we'd be staying at a hotel because of that. Don't they have tons to do for the wedding?"

"Certainly. I promised you would help."

"And what will you do, then?"

"Sunbathe."

"You're just teasing me."

"Maybe," Sherlock replies and gets hit on the head with the Union Jack pillow.

 

 

 

To John's slight surprise and great delight, they fly first class. Sherlock points out to him that there's not a living soul who could possibly imagine Mycroft in coach. 

An hour before they land Sherlock emerges from the toilets wearing a short-sleeved linen shirt and shorts. John gapes at the sight.

"What?" Sherlock asks.

"Nothing. I'm sure your rowing team won the match."

Sherlock snorts. "We're headed for a country with a hot, arid climate. I am dressed accordingly."

John glances at Mycroft across the aisle, still dressed in a full woolly suit. John himself is in jeans and a dress shirt. Sherlock is probably right. "I just don't think I've ever seen your legs outside of our apartment. It'll be good for you to get some sun."

Sherlock arranges himself back into his seat, picking up the copy of Scientific American John had bought him from the airport - 'because otherwise you'll deduce every bloody passenger when you get bored and that is just not on'.


	2. Chapter 2

Alice's fiancee Joos picks them up from the airport. John rolls down the window and relishes the feeling of the hot desert wind on his face. Sherlock notices him smiling and raises his eyebrows inquisitively.

"Brings back memories?" he asks John.

"I liked the dry warmth in Afghanistan. Took some getting used to the climate again when I returned to London."

The drive takes about an hour. Sherlock's sister and her fiancee reside in one of Jeddah's vast expat compounds - fenced neighbourhoods where foreign workers can enjoy a somewhat greater freedom than their local neighbours. They have a large apartment on the fifth floor with good views over the gardens and beyond the fence where the desert starts. They have four guest bedrooms, one of which is presented to Sherlock and John.

They freshen up and head back to the common area of the apartment for lunch. 

 

 

 

After lunch, Sherlock is sitting cross-legged on the sofa, eyes closed. 

John is seated by the dining room table, trying to get his phone to find a carrier, looking more and more exasperated by the minute. 

Joos walks in and spots what John is doing. "Let me see," he suggests. 

John passes him the phone. "All yours," he scoffs.

"I have to do this literally all the time," Joos says. After a few minutes he presents the phone back to John.

"How'd you manage that?" John asks .

"You have to turn off the automatic search and select the right network manually. Somehow that usually fixes it."

Joos sits down across the table from John. 

"You travel a lot for work, then?" John asks him.

"I try to limit it now that we're together but yes, I typically do longer engagements during wintertime, round the festival circuits in the summer and often visit several countries during the opening season of the concert programme year in fall. Do you play an instrument, John?"

"Clarinet at school but I was rubbish at it. Sherlock plays the violin, you know" John remarks.

Sherlock's right eye opens into a slit and closes again.

"So Alice tells me. She also says it's a Strad he has." Joos sounds intrigued.

"Strad--? Yeah, a Stradivarius. You'd never guess its value by the way he just forgets it in random places. I once had to wipe jam off of it."

Joos looks both amused and horrified. 

Sherlock has opened his eyes and is looking indignant. "It is one of the maker's minor, early ones. Please stop insinuating that I abuse it."

"How'd you acquire it? I take it you are a skilled player."

"I am sure you would put it to much better use," Sherlock suggests.

John laughs. "That's a first. Sherlock Holmes in the throes of some sort of a modesty attack."

"Perish the thought," Mycroft remarks from a nearby sofa where he's clicking through the channel attempting to find BBC World.

Sherlock stretches his legs and stands up. "It's a long story which I will share only on an occasion during which I'm inebriated enough."

"He won it by counting cards against a Russian oil magnate, and I needed to rescue him when they discovered a day later he'd also made off with a certain antique musket," Mycroft remarks, followed by an "Aha!" as he finally lands on his desired channel.

Sherlock glares at Mycroft. Then he joins John and Joos in the dining room, taking a seat. "I've read that you yourself carry a prestigious violin. The Il Cannone Guarneri. I would be very interested to see it," he tells Joos.

"Well then you'd better follow me, please," Joos says, heading towards his study. Sherlock follows suit and John trails after them.

Soon Sherlock is carefully cradling a beautiful violin in his hand, the colour of which is much darker compared to the violin residing at 221B Baker Street. He runs his long fingers along the sides as though reading braille and closes his eyes momentarily before he gently plucks two strings to test out the sound. John watches him intensely.

"Would you like to --?" Joos suggests, and Sherlock doesn't require any more coaxing to grab the bow Joos is offering him. He raises the instrument to his shoulder and begins playing.

John recognizes the piece as one of the two Grieg sonatas Sherlock has been working on. 

Sherlock plays for a few minutes and then pauses, passing the instrument back to Joos. "Thank you," he says. Which he never normally says, really. Unless he's been hit on the head or running a fever.

"Would you like to play at the wedding?" Joos asks and for once, Sherlock's mouth hangs open. 

"I assumed you yourself would?"

Joos laughs as he packs the Guarneri back into its case. "I want to kick back and let others do the work for once. I repeat, would you like to play?"

Sherlock nods.

"Maybe Joos could give you some pointers?" John suggests, expecting an undignified glare from the Mr Humble that Sherlock is, but no such expression materializes.

"I would like that," Sherlock finally says quietly and Joos nods.

"Let's make it a wedding present to Alice. I'll help you practice when she's not at home. Do you know if she has any favourite pieces?"

 

 

During the next few days John gets to relish the experience on being on an actual holiday with Sherlock Holmes. They try their hand at scuba diving, which Sherlock seems to enjoy immensely and John thinks his curls look adorable bobbing around in all directions underwater. They borrow Joos' car and drive out to the desert town of Taif and walk around, enjoying the marginally cooler climate in the mountains. The scenery spurs John to reminisce about his army days and he shares tales with Sherlock. They hold hands in public, which feels strangely normal. Alice had explained that such open expressions of friendship are considered very natural between males in the country.

They drive to Yanbu and spend a day on the beach. On the way back they buy fruit from the village market at Al Shafa for their hosts. 

 

 

Alice gets an extra day off three days before the wedding and she arranges a daytrip for John and Sherlock to the desert. Mycroft opts out of such an excursion. 

The three of them are driven out to the desert in a jeep, first to an oasis and then to an area of seemingly endless sand dunes in hues of orange and yellow. 

Sherlock sits out on top of a dune for a long time, seemingly lost in thought. John wanders around with Alice, catching up on one another's lives.

Alice then seeks shade under the only tree in sight, and John clambers up the dune to Sherlock. "You forgot your hat," he remarks and sits down.

"I don't really do hats, John," Sherlock replies quietly, still staring out into the emptiness of the desert valley. 

"Have you drank any water?" John offers him a bottle which he declines.

"I don't feel thirsty."

"We're in the bloody desert. It doesn't matter if you feel thirsty or not, you need to drink. When you start to feel thirsty, you're already dehydrated."

Sherlock squints. It seems that he has forgotten his sunglasses as well. Or just didn't bother to bring them in the first place.

"I was thirsty an hour ago but that passed."

John curses. "You burnt yourself at the beach. You're bound to need even more to drink than the rest of us. Come on," he says and tries to pull Sherlock up.

"Tired," Sherlock replies and continues staring out into the horizon.

"What is the matter with you? Just look at me," John commands and Sherlock obliges, blinking.

"If I don't look far enough I get dizzy," the detective admits. 

John feels his forehead. "You're not even sweating. I think you're getting a heatstroke, you idiot. You need to drink, not stare out into space."

Sherlock agrees to be pulled onto his feet. The temperature is about forty degrees celsius and despite John taking a swig from his water bottle every few minutes, he's starting to feel a bit light-headed himself. He can only try to imagine what the heat as been doing to his partner.

John's heatstroke theory receives further evidence when Sherlock's attempt to walk back to the car results in throwing up in a spiky bush. John wraps an arm around him and half-drags him to the air-conditioned jeep, laying him down on the backseat.

Alice joins them, looking worried. "John, what --"

"This bloody idiot has been scorching himself for hours up there. I need to get him back to the apartment. Have you got any more water? If not, we need to stop at a gas station."

Sherlock is starting to doze off. 

"No you don't," John says determinedly and forced some water into the man. This only makes his throw up again, this time in the plastic bag Alice manages to fish out of her backpack.

"I remember when we were little and went to the beach during summertime. He would just sit, not swim or anything, just sit and think. Then he'd get heatstroke."

"He hasn't learned a thing since then, it seems."

They head back towards the skyscrapers of Jeddah, Sherlock sprawled out on the back seat with his legs on Alice's knees and head on John's lap. He mostly sleeps, on occasion opening half an eye and muttering seemingly random, delirious things when the road is bumpy or John commits the crime of fidgeting under the weight of him. 

"I like you," he tells John at one point and dozes off again.

"I'm glad," John tells his sleeping form. "I'd like you even more if you occasionally took better care of yourself." His eyes meet Alice's, who's smiling.

 

 

Late that evening Sherlock emerges victorious from his heatstroke. John is a more ghostly sight after spending hours trying to force Sherlock to drink the rehydration solution he'd made out of bottled water, table salt and sugar, administering painkillers for Sherlock's raging headache and cleaning out buckets of sick.

John is still sprawled on the bed, tangled up in their sweaty sheets while Sherlock has gotten dressed again and is arguing with an airline representative on the phone. John is so fatigued it takes him a while to realize that Sherlock is trying to organize flights somewhere.

"Please tell me you're not bored and want to move our flights ealier just to get home to your cases."

"Not at all." Sherlock puts down the receiver. "I was contacted by an old friend last week just before we left. It's a case in Ireland. You will need to take time off work next Tuesday to Friday."

"I can't just _take_ time off if there's no emergency. It's an actual job that I have, not just a pastime for when you don't happen to need me around."

"Yes," Sherlock concedes, "But this is more important. We leave for Dublin on Tuesday. Our flight back from Riyadh lands on Monday. Plenty of time to go home and repack."

John drags himself out of bed. At the moment he would love nothing more than to be back at Baker street, in the lovely cooler climate, in his own bed.   
He has a hard time keeping irritation out of his tone. "I just wish that sometimes, at least _sometimes_, I could have a say about things."

"A say about what?"

"Us! What we do and when. What happens in this relationship. I would appreciate it if you would actually make an effort to negotiate for once."

"That is infuriatingly vague, John."

"Well excuse me for once again insulting your intellectual prowess!"

"You do have a say in _us_. I you didn't, it would've not taken such a long time for us to get together in the first place."

"I've told you to stop playing that argument." 

"What you do want me to say? 'Yes John, I get it, I get that relationships need work and sharing and manners and trivial things!' You are always demanding these things of me without even vocalizing what the hell they even are!"

John loudly bangs a drawer closed. A drawer that Sherlock has left wide open. Probably distracted by something and couldn't be bothered. This makes John even angrier.

"You know how this goes. You call the shots, I trail behind and mop up the mess you inevitably cause by insulting people, jumping into the Thames chasing suspects, exploding things in the kitchen and thinking you're this thing that doesn't even require water when it's a hundred degrees outside!" 

"You want me to wear a helmet when I go outside, don an apron and start hoovering every two days? Shared laundry duties?"

"No. I want you to _get it_, Sherlock. And it drives me mad to know that you've just going to ask "get what"!"

"Wasn't this supposed to work itself out?"

"Like how?"

"That's what's been hammered through everywhere, that once you love someone and show it, then bang, you have produced a relationship and everything just sort of organizes itself!"

"No! Paid bills and succesful relationships and gravy and clean underwear do NOT just magically appear out of thin air! God, you can be so thick sometimes."

"I thought you were happy with what we have. How things are. How I am. I thought you chose me because I am, well, me. And not an improvement project."

"I know," John sighs and slumps onto the bed. It's not like he didn't have a clue what Sherlock was like. It's just as well that when you've just gotten together you're willing to overlook so much. 

"I didn't know that once we would begin sharing a bed you would attempt to gain command over me."

"Don't exaggerate. Noone has command over you. That's bloody impossible. God knows if Sherlock Holmes doesn't want to do something noone will be able to persuade him otherwise."

They sit on the bed in silence for a moment. 

John sighs. "Anything you're unhappy with? I might as well ask, for the sake of bloody equality or something."

Sherlock looks at him, looking earnest. "That fact that you are unhappy and I haven't the faintest how to fix it. Is this because you feel emasculated about the travel arrangements?"

Sometimes John wants to throttle Sherlock. He bites his tongue. "No. I am not emasculated."

"I agree. Delegating tasks to the one who is most suited to perform them is sound thinking which is not emasculating in the least. Although I can see why some might view certain aspects in our relationship to be indicative of you having taken up a sort of a role traditionally held by the female counterpart - -"

"Sherlock for fuck's sake!" John yells and storms out to the balcony. He stays there for over an hour, during which he finds Sherlock's cigarettes hidden behind a potted palm. He throws them into a nearby hibiscus bush. Only after the lights in the room have been switched off and a quiet, constant snoring is heard does he go to sleep on his side of the double bed.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning John wakes up before Sherlock. He dresses hastily after having decided he needs something to get his mind off their argument. 

He finds Alice in the dining room, having breakfast. John sits down to join her. Joos soon emerges from the kitchen and passes him a plate of eggs. 

John suddenly looks apprehensive. "I'm not stealing your breakfast, am I?"

Joos smiles. "I have two more plates coming up. Don't worry about it."

"Good luck getting Sherlock to eat. It's not something even I can achieve easily."

Alice gives him an encouraging smile. "Any plans for today?"

"Might've had some but I think I need a breather from His Highness. I assume you heard us last night?"

Alice looks empathetic. "Sort of, yeah." 

"What about you? Any wedding stuff you need a sturdy Englishman to sort out for you?"

"There is one thing. I'm supposed to pick up my gown today and would love someone's opinion that everything is in order."

"I'm not exactly sure I'm the one you should be asking. I'm sure Mr Tailored Trousers would love to employ his fashion sense."

Alice swallows a spoonful of granola. "I think Sherlock would die of boredom before we even got there. It's ladies' fashoin, after all. Joos is out of the question, my mother won't be here, Mycroft would start to micromanage the whole thing, so that leaves you. Also, out of all possible candidates you possess the most common sense."

John laughs. "Alright. You've got your dress wingman."

 

 

The air conditioning in the taxi is broken. John is relieved to leave the sauna-like vehicle and wander into into the bridal salon in one of Jeddah's most exclusive malls. Alice gets there five minutes later - they had to take two taxis since it's illegal for a woman to share a taxi with a man who isn't a relative or her husband. They are escorted into a large private room within the salon.

John wonders aloud why the shop windows have such heavy, dark velvet curtains. 

"Western wedding gowns show too much skin to be paraded around in in public. They can't have any strange men accidentally see the brides," Alice whispers to John as she tucks her scarf in her handbag.

"Why sell them here, then, if noone's going to buy them? And what's with so many lingerie shops?"

Alice gives him a sideways look. "You wouldn't believe what these women wear _under_ their abayas! I've been to a couple of Saudi weddings and for the majority of the festivities women are separated from the menand can dress quite freely. They even have many Saudi designers now who create western-style, often quite revealing wedding gowns."

John idly fingers the lacy sleeve of a delicate gown hanging from a nearby rack, which earns him a stern glance from an attendant. He retreats into a chair while Alice disappears behind a velvet curtain with another shop attendant.

In about fifteen minutes, she appears, now wearing a wedding gown. It's white but not snow-like - John thinks Sherlock would probably be able to name the precise hue off the top of his head. Alice's shoulders are covered with lace but there are no sleeves. The skirt part has a top layer of tulle and is not very wide.

John coughs. "I think it looks... British. Yeah. Somehow, very British. It's lovely, really, as far as I can tell," he says and meets Alice's gaze. 

She smiles warmly. "Thank you. It's a Reem Acra," she says matter-of-factly and seems amused at John's vacant expression.

"I've no idea what that means," he admits.

"The designer. You think Joos'll like it?"

John blinks. "Any man would."

"Any man apart from the one who only has eyes for my brother," Alice teases.

"I still think you'd be better off asking Sherlock's opinion. He's the actual posh gay one," John jokes and they share a laugh. 

"Alright then, Mr Stereotype," Alice teases and turns to the attendant, nods and they disappear back behind the velvet curtain.

In a few minutes she returns to John, scarf neatly covering every inch of her hair again and carrying a huge garment bag and a paper bag with a veil in it. "You want to get some lunch?" she asks.

John nods. "As long as we don't spill ketchup on that thing," he points at the garment bag.

 

 

 

"To me it seems a bit overkill to move to the Middle East just to spite Mycroft. Like you've exchanged one suffocating situation for another. Can't be easy being a woman here."

"I didn't do it because of him. I left Britain partly because I wanted to avoid him but mostly because I didn't have anyone tying me down and I just wanted to what else was out there. Eventually I fell in love with being an expat. Sure, being a western woman here is hard, but you just have to decide that you're just this one woman who can't change so much on her own so you better just roll with it and try and see it as a live-and-learn thing. The compound is okay, sometimes I even forget for a moment what it's like for women outside those walls. And Joos travels so much anyway it doesn't really matter much where we live. I can get time off and join him."

"You do realize that you don't really have to stay in London?", Alice then adds, "You could go anywhere, do anything with Sherlock."

"Sherlock loves London. I have to work. Bills have to be paid."

"You do know he's loaded?" Alice asks, sounding somewhat confused, and John's fork halts.

 

 

 

 

Sherlock lays sprawled on the bed, taking up most of its surface. "Damned starfish," John often chided when waking up with Sherlock's limb all over him and tried to disentangle, which usually woke Sherlock up.

This time he had been asleep when John had risen. 

A warm breeze floats in through the open balcony door, causing its thin white curtains to flap.

Sherlock groans, pulls himself to his feet and puts on the first decent clothes he happens upon. 

He has a headache. John has been reminding him to drink enough. Last night, however, his mothering had been absent.

John was angry. Really angry. This always left Sherlock feeling somewhat awkward and insecure. It was hateful. Sherlock had not become very skilled at deducing whether John was merely in a bad mood or they just had a subjective difference in opinion. Sherlock was quite frightened of missing to recognize a moment in which John had a point and the whole conversation was a pivotal point on which John might weigh the merits of actually continuing their relationship. Sherlock would have loved to have some sort of method to discern the stability of what they had.

He walks to the dining room. Apart from a vacuuming, veiled maid who doesn't even aknowledge his presence, it's empty.

He pauses at the entrance to the living room. Everyone is probably running errands. There is _nothing_ for him to do. Apart from try to pick apart the previous evening's conversation.

He takes out his mobile.

WHERE ARE YOU? SH he texts John.

LUNCH WITH ALICE, comes a reply some minutes later. Sherlock nearly shorts his brain trying to interpret this. Is there something between the lines he's missing? John is often pithy in his electronic communication.

John's relationship with Alice confounds him. Naturally he would expect them to get along, with their quaint common sense and ordinary sensibilities. Or perhaps ordinary is not the word he is looking for. Perhaps hidden courage would be better. John looks unassuming but did enlist in the army. And is involved with someone who likes chasing after criminals. Alice moved abroad without a moment's hesitation and now seems to thrive even in situations that most Western women would consider extremely challenging. Sherlock feels that any sister of hers is likely to be clever and resourceful, if not genius. If the same genes produced both himself and Mycroft, surely Alice couldn't be that different.

But she is. In many respects, she is so much like John. They both wear their hearts on their sleeves and in pivotal situtions have acted out of compassion instead of following a path of cold calculation. 

Sherlock has once wondered if he himself seems to falter so much in these issues because he never knows which of these paths to take. There is no _consistency_ to his conduct, it seems.

He misses John. John always keeps him entertained or at least manages to keep his energies somewhat contained. 

His reverie is interrupted by Mycroft, who emerges from the other guest bedroom, wearing quite an agreeable white linen suit. Trust the git to own a whole wardrobe of these borderline imperialist things. "Morning," Mycroft greets him and heads to the kitchen.

Sherlock follows him, opens the fridge and pours himself an iced tea. This ought to count as breakfast. Besides, if it heals his obnoxious headache, all the better.

"You look like death warmed over, brother," Mycroft observes, "Has the good doctor not relented? I heard you arguing."

"None of your business," Sherlock replies dryly and abandons his now empty glass on the countertop.

"I see. You know what they say, 'never let the sun set on a row'."

"Spare me your colloquialisms."

"Any plans for today? I see John is not with you."

"He's gone out with Alice. Something wedding-related, most likely."

"That is disappointingly vague, even for you. Alice has a dress fitting, judging by her food and drink consumption yesterday evening."

Sherlock scratches a dried fleck of parsley from the stone countertop. It sticks to his nail. "Why would John go to a dress fitting?"

"Are you asking me?" Mycroft looks amused. "I am not the one in the best position to evaluate John Watson's state of mind. Perhaps he just wanted to get out of the house. Which is what I might suggest for you as well."

Sherlock crosses his arms. "And I'm sure you've got the perfect suggestion."

Mycroft clears his throat and finishes his tea, placing the cup carefully on the bottom of the sink. "I would appreciate if you would join me while I visit the US ambassador's military advisor. There are certain things that he might be more inclined to disclose if I had some leverage. You sometimes see things from a different perspective. Together we might be able to achieve quite a lot."

"Are you throwing me a bone or genuinely in need of help?"

Mycroft smiles that aggravating smile of his that speaks volumes but never really means anything.


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you mean, loaded?" John sounds incredulous. 

"There's a trust fund, combined with the inheritance from several relatives. Mycroft lives in our parents' house - it was a mutual agreement in which most of the money assets would be divided between Sherlock and me and he would get the property. It's a sizable sum and as far as I know, Sherlock isn't much of a spender. It's likely that there's enough for him actually never having to work for a living. Which is perfect for someone who wants to solve puzzles regardless of whether he gets paid or not."

"Our finances are separate. I have my own work," John points out.

Alice's expression is bittersweet. "I never touched a penny of that inheritance money apart from once when I couldn't get any work for a year. Just somehow I want to try and sort things out for myself, you know? I'd hate just idling around in St Tropez or something."

John raises his glass of Pepsi. "To not idling." Alice reciprocates.

"Do you enjoy your current work? As a doctor, I mean," Alice asks.

John looks thoughtful. "I don't know, I really don't. After Uni I didn't really have a choice so it wasn't a matter of enjoying it or not. The army medical corps were more appealing than a life as a GP or going to specialization route, but it's unrealistic for anyone to be able to handle army med long-term."

"You two could take a gap year, you know. Travel, enjoy yourselves."

John laughs sceptically. "Sherlock, enjoying himself? I know he's had fun here and God knows that was strange to witness, but I don't think that sort of thing could keep that restless noggin occupied for long."

"You could take cases abroad?"

"Our work sort of depends on a good working relationship with the local police. A relationship that's hard to create with how he is most of the time. Besides, as I said, he really loves London."

"London is still going to be there when you would get back."

"Could you imagine ever moving back?"

Alice shrugs. "I don't know. I don't plan that far ahead. I like having my options open."

"One thing I don't get about you, though," John muses.

Alice raises her eyebrows.

"Inviting Mycroft. You've made quite an effort in keeping him out of your life and now you invite him here. What's the catch?"

Alice's expression is difficult to read. "You, in a way."

"How's that?" John looks slightly alarmed.

"I had this grudge for Mycroft basically because I saw his controlling as twisted compensation for what he did, or more accurately, didn't do for Sherlock back when we were younger. The incident I told you about wasn't the only thing. I thought that his failings were a big part of why Sherlock's life had gone the way it did. But when I saw the two of you together I realized that I'd overestimated the impact of certain things. Sherlock wasn't the lost case in some aspects of his life I thought he was."

John looks thoughtful. "So you almost had a grimmer image of him that maybe even Mycroft did."

"I was gone for so long. When you live far away you tend to somehow think that things will stay the same in the place you left from and only your own life will progress and change. I never saw _you_ coming, John. And I now have to admit that maybe Mycroft did, and thus knew Sherlock better than me. Which is kind of embarrassing, considering that I always thought of myself as Sherlock's great defender. Some defender I was, escaping the country and living thousands of miles away."

John laughs. "Believe me, _I_ never saw this Sherlock thing coming, either."

Alice swallows down the last of her drink. "I got the impression you had a bit of a hard time with it at first."

"I sort of still do in some ways, yeah. It's all new, really. Don't even know what to call myself, now."

"Bisexual?" Alice suggests.

"I guess. I feel like there's this whole culture I'm not aware of, not that Sherlock participates in any kind of _scene_, really. He just is, you know."

"Sherlock's never been very interested in trying to placing himself in any sort of category. I don't think he sees a need for that."

"A man who even invents his own job title. I get your drift."

"I don't want to be defined by being a Holmes. You don't want to be defined by being involved with a guy. If I can be just Alice, you can just be John and Sherlock. Doesn't have to be more complicated than that, really."

"So this wedding invitation is a peace offering for Mycroft, then."

"I still won't want him to meddle in my life in any way, but I think I could agree to aknowledge his existence every once in awhile."

"You really sound like Sherlock sometimes," John smirks.

 

 

 

Two days later, Alice and Joos are married in a flurry of white roses. To the surprise of everyone but perhaps John, Alice is given away by Mycroft at the ceremony. Sherlock practically drops his jaw, which is a rare sight. 

John is aware that the evening before the wedding, Mycroft and Alice have had a very long, overdue conversation.

The reception is held at the banquet hall of the American Embassy. Tastefully decorated in dark wood and and large chandeliers, it is just the right size for the enormous wedding party. The champagne flows endlessly, thanks to the embassy being foreign soil and thus strict Saudi alcohol laws can be circumvented.

Apart from Alice's siblings, there are about forty Holmeses in attendance. Sherlock introduces John to each and every one of them, and John hears more than a hint of pride in his tone when he carefully articulates the word 'boyfriend' to each group of relatives. It's not a word John would have imagined Sherlock using. John has a theory that the git actually sort of likes the subduedly disapproving looks on the faces of elderly lady relatives dressed in floral patterns. 

Alice's friends consist of a large and multinational group of thirtysomething professional women. Some of them are very attractive, which John does not fail to notice but doesn't really care. He's slightly amused at the way he is quite relieved not to have to play the game anymore. He's much more content turning his head to the right as he sits in their assigned table to witness Sherlock Holmes scarfing down his second helping of wedding cake. He has been amused to discover that despite Sherlock's constant condescension of Mycroft's purported cake habit, Sherlock himself loves anything and everything with a high sugar content. Solves the mystery of all those candy bars that kept evaporating from John's duffel pocket during the first years of their cohabitation.

John's heart swells when he looks at this man. Sherlock is even more gorgeous than usual, dressed in am impeccably tailored black suit and wearing the same kind of miniature white calla lily in his lapel as Mycroft and Joos's father. Larger versions of the same flower inhabit Alice's cascading bouquet and the lavish table arrangements. Sherlock's hair is an artistic mess thanks to heavy air conditioning and way too much product than is probably good for anyone. 

After dessert there's dancing. 

John swigs his cognac and watches Sherlock move around the dance floor with Alice. He can really see the resemblance. They have the same dimples, the same kind of suggestive smile when they are joking and they both can dance. Very, very well. 

In another life John might have asked a woman like Alice out on a date. Now the thought is very difficult for him to even imagine. 

He's insane for wanting to be with a man like Sherlock Holmes, he really is. On the other hand, maybe he wasn't a very sensible man to begin with.

After a second dance, Alice retreats from the dance floor and joins John at the edge of the hall. Sherlock is nowhere to be seen.

"Not a dancer, are you John?" Alice asks, and sneaks a kiss on his cheek. Her face is slightly flush from the lackluster air conditioning, the champagne and the dancing. 

John shakes his head. "It's like with the violin, I'm more of a keen observer."

They take in the scene and notice Mycroft raising his glass at them from across the ballroom and Alice nabs a champagne glass from John's hand to reciprocate.

They then idle over to the balcony and take in the lights of downtown Jeddah. The edges of the higher buildings seem to be slightly shivering as the hot air rises. Stars are starting to come into view. 

"Will you stay late?" John asks, aware that it is traditional for the bride and groom to leave for their honeymoon sometime during the early evening and leave guests to continue the party.

"Actually, yes. We've got a trip booked but it's three weeks away. It's because of Joos' concert schedules and a trade summit in Riyadh."

"You've reached a truce with Mycroft, then?"

Alice looks sheepish. "Yes and no. It's not like you could ever get him to admit to ever being in the wrong. I basically told him yesterday that I've realized that Sherlock doesn't need him or me to watch over him anymore. He's got you, but it's not the same. He's looking out for you more than vice versa, I think."

A thoughtful John leans on a safety railing. "If you don't count the everyday stuff like trying to keep him from setting the flat on fire, I don't think that he needs much safekeeping, really." 

"I've got two idiot brothers but at least now one of them is a happy idiot," Alice jokes, hand of John's shoulder.

Sherlock locates them on the balcony and joins them, briefly struggling with the flowing curtains separating the balcony from the ballroom. He is holding a full glass of champagne, which he swigs down.

"Easy, mate. Don't forget to drink some water, too," John scolds.

"Oh shush," Sherlock replies, cheeks burning slightly reddish from at least five glasses of champagne he's downed already. He had performed his violin piece after the first one. Joos had given him some lessons and even though John is not an expert, he thinks he hears a slight difference in the way Sherlock tackles some parts of the Schubert sonata. It's one of the pieces John has heard him play several times at home. He remembers one occasional particularly well because it's the very thing that Sherlock had been playing in the living room, wearing nothing at all, when John emerged in the kitchen on the morning after they had shared a bed for the first time. John had been alarmed to wake up alone, filled with dread that Sherlock had someone freaked out despite how utterly perfectly everything had seemed to go despite the fact that sex had taken place between a virgin and a first timer of a different sort.

John's fears had evaporated when he'd seen the look on Sherlock's face. He'd been playing the violin eyes closed, all the nervous energy and manic tension usually evident on his face completely gone. He'd seemed so serene, content and at peace with himself that John's eyes had moistened, as he realized he was seeing Sherlock completely void of the intimidating mask he'd carefully constructed for his persona. He'd gotten the first glimpse of this very different Sherlock Holmes the night before, in the dark of Sherlock's bedroom, but at that stage he'd been kind of preoccupied with other earth-shattering things.

He could never stay mad at Sherlock for long. They hadn't really discussed the subject of their row further, just sort of returned to their routine way of being together. Sherlock had seemed on the edge and apologetic for a day, though.

During the following hours at the wedding, John listens to Sherlock and Mycroft bicker about their joint venture two days prior and hears some tales from the siblings' childhood from their great aunt. He talks to Joos about his and Alice's honeymoon plans for Tahiti, which proves difficult because a quite tipsy Sherlock is constantly attempting to change the subject to an axe murder he has been working on back home. 

It's not typical of Sherlock to drink such an amount at once. He very rarely indulges, usually just the very occasional brandy with Mrs Hudson, mostly as a courtesy to the landlady. Now Sherlock seems slightly antsy and John wonders if there's a particular reason for it or if this is just how Sherlock gets when given too much Laurent-Perrier.

 

 

After midnight they thank the newlyweds, bid a good night to everyone and catch a taxi to get back to expat compound. Sherlock tells their taxi driver to leave them at the main gates for some reason. 

They pay and exit the car. Sherlock tugs on John's shirt sleeve - they had taken off their jackets in the car - and pulls him towards the gardens located between the main gate and the apartment block. "Come on," he tells John.

"Why? Can't we just head straight to bed?"

"It's important," Sherlock tells him as they walk between rows of palms. He hasn't let go of John, moving his fingers from the shirtsleeve down to John's wrist. They're almost holding hands but not quite. 

John mends this by wrapping his fingers around Sherlock's. "With you everything is always important. Regardless of whether there's been a coup or you just can't find your left sock."

Sherlock almost trips on a tree root.

"You're drunk, "John concludes. "Any particular reason?"

Sherlock gives him an indignant look. "Can't I be allowed to celebrate my sister's wedding?"

"Not what I meant."

Sherlock pauses by a stone bench. John sits down and Sherlock joins him. 

"You never told me where you went two days ago with Mycroft?" John inquires.

Sherlock flicks his hand dismissively. "Unimportant. I helped Mycroft with an errand and he helped me with mine."

John yawns. "What errand?"

Sherlock swallows. "John -" he starts, but then clamps his mouth shut.

John scratches his temple. The heat and the champagne are making his head feel heavy. "Yeah?"

Sherlock stands up, looking troubled. "I don't know how to do this."

John's head suddenly feels a lot less hazy. Something is going on. "Do what?"

Sherlock doesn't reply, just looks at him with a pained expression. 

"Just tell me. Whatever it is, we can sort it out," John prompts.

Sherlock pinches his eyes shut, like he's trying to make a decision whether to proceed or not.

"Sherlock?" John jiggles his fingers that are still entwined with Sherlock's. Sherlock pulls his hand away and open his eyes.

Something is wrong here. Really wrong. The liquid courage and Sherlock's deep hesitancy to say out loud what's in his mind - if this was anyone else here with him, John would interpret all the signs pointing towards an 'it's not you, it's me' -speech but with Sherlock one never could tell. All John can now do is wait for Sherlock to make the decision.

Sherlock takes a step back, as though apprising the situation.

Then he draws in a breath through clenched teeth, and speaks. "I have come to a realization. I have lived this life, _my life_, with the principle of not wasting my time with such frivolities as useless social rituals. You, on the other hand, seem perfectly content in upholding these ridiculous notions of God and Country and birthdays and Family and anniversaries and Courtesy and obtruding my life with them in the process. It is hard, so hard, and on top of that your very presence makes it sometimes very hard to even _think_. You are the ruin of the practical and sensible existence I have carved for myself - - "

John doesn't know what to think or where to start. "Sherlock - -"

"I'm not finished so shut up!"

John is so taken aback he does exactly that. 

"The realization I have come to is that I. Do. Not. Care. I don't care if I never solve another murder because sex, _our_ sex keeps going round and round in my head instead of sensible and important things, I don't care if people think I'm clever, I don't care if I have to waste my time sending our Christmas cards or whatever it is you normal people deem necessary to do to function in a relationship unit - - What I mean to say is that all I care about is if you are happy and I get to keep you to myself. Whatever that entails, I will strive to do. If there needs to be a wedding I will concede, you can have anything you want, flowers and whatnot although I am not exactly sure to which extent the cliche of homosexuals and the frequent use of florist services actually applies and I will respect that you need these sort of things even though I consider them ridiculous because if you are happy I am happy and I love seeing you like that - - "

John stands up and hugs Sherlock tightly. "Love, just calm down. I think I know what you're trying to say but slow down, eh? Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Sherlock blinks twice. "I have no idea of knowing what your frankly usually feeble attempts at deducing things have lead you to believe I'm trying to communicate here."

"Well bloody say it, then!"

Sherlock slowly lets out a breath. He smells faintly of tobacco which John would usually give him an earful about but now they're both too preoccupied with what Sherlock is trying to say.

"I propose a civil union. Instead of this foul 'boyfriend', I wish to call you husband. Will you accept?" Sherlock bites his lip and John reallizes the man is actually quite worried about what John will say.

"Sherlock, you lovely idiot. Of course I, of course I will, I accept, God, yes!"

 

 

\- The end -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see what Alice's wedding gown looks like, head to Reem Acra's website, dig out the Fall 2015 collection and check out gown number 11/25.


End file.
